


Fire

by orlesiantitans



Series: 100 Themes [27]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:31:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7277344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orlesiantitans/pseuds/orlesiantitans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is fire. Blackwall knows it the first time he sees her, staff strapped to her back and curious and polite smile on her face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire

She is _fire_. Blackwall knows it the first time he sees her, staff strapped to her back and curious and polite smile on her face. That disappears immediately when he catches the arrow of a bandit, and within seconds she is a few feet away from where she’d been standing, determination on her face as she takes down _one-two-three_ bandits. The focus in her eyes is incredible, as is the way she holds herself. Proud, head high, tension just right. He doesn’t forget himself often in a battle, but the Herald of Andraste poised and focused is quite a thing to behold.

He allows the men to go free, and is shocked to discover that she wants information about the Wardens and the Divine. He feels an uncomfortable twist in his stomach- because fuck it if he knows much about the Wardens- but gives an honest answer anyway. He doesn’t believe, not for one _blighted_ second that they could have anything to do with it. She accepts this answer with all the grace of a woman disappointed, and is about to leave when he stops her. Offers his services.

That is his first mistake.

The second comes shortly after. He travels to Haven, and is subjected to heavy questioning by the Inquisition’s spymaster. He shifts and tries not to waver under her gaze, but he is used to lying and any hesitation on his part can be explained away as ‘Warden secrecy’. She accepts his answers and leaves him be, and the breath of relief he takes has to be disguised as a sigh to ensure he remains above suspicion.

He hates himself for it.

Ellana questions him when he gets to her as well, but hers are questions bred more of excitement and the enthusiasm of youth than of suspicion. She’s so fucking young, barely nineteen as he finds out during one such discussion, and the guilt of a dirty old man is what he feels at night when he finds a quiet moment and takes himself in hand, thinking of her as he does so.

She flirts as well, slightly shy, clumsy, teasing. And he flirts back, in a way he shouldn’t allow himself but he does, flattered by the attention.

Then Haven comes. They lose people and he is reminded of what he is, rather than the man he wants to be, for her. Maker, what he wants to be for this woman. But when she tries to make a move, he doesn’t allow it. He sees her face when he lets himself think, open and honest and then upset, blinking back the evidence of her upset. He wants to pull her into his arms and assure her that it’s not her, but instead he walks away, each step weighted with his pain and hers.

He should leave it there. But he’s never done what he _should_ do, and beneath the veneer of ‘Blackwall’ is Thom Rainier, and Thom Rainier is selfish. Thom Rainier wants to _take_ her. Wants to feel her writhe and gasp against him, wants to show her what sex is about. But there is just enough of who he wants to be there to keep that at bay.

Or so he thinks. He takes her to the Storm Coast- a chance for him to explain. To reveal who he is and let her do to him what she will. But he has always been a coward and as soon as they get there he can’t do it any more.

_“You mean your badge?”_

Fuck it. He’s too weak to pass up this opportunity, to be loved and to love. It’s been too long since he allowed himself that. The kisses start of as gentle and innocent as she, but quickly become something different. He has her pinned against the railing in her room, and she squirms against him for a moment before relaxing. Andraste, she's barely been kissed, and he’s only ever been with one elf before, and did he have to bend forward as much then? Or is she just short?

He takes her hands when she attempts to take off his shirt. He’s painfully hard in his breeches, and she looks at him in confusion. “I thought you wanted-”

“You have no idea how much I want that, my Lady. But not tonight. Not for your first,” he whispers. And she blushes, as if she didn’t know how obvious it is that she’s untouched, and she frowns. He sees this look more often- the hardened woman she’s become since Haven. The woman whose lips are now painted red, who shaved one side of her hair and who is stronger than she was- but who still wants to believe the best in people. She is fire, and she is heat, and he _burns_ in her flame. He is the moth that wants to revel in the light- even at the risk of himself.

“I’m not some innocent flower, Blackwall. Touching me… _being_ with me? It isn’t going to spoil me.”

He wishes this was true. But _he_ would spoil her. He pulls back, hands still holding hers, and kisses one of them in farewell.

“Goodnight, my lady.”

After that, she comes to see him even more frequently. A kiss in the barn, or even just a talk that changes into kisses, or her snuggling into his side. On the battlefield they are more watchful of one another, and occasionally she’ll take his hand when they’re walking and warmth spreads through his chest.

One night, she shares a tent with him. The kisses become heated, and he allows himself a small concession in the small, cramped space. His fingers dip beneath her waistband and his calloused fingers bring her to climax, her head against his shoulder as she lets out a soft, muffled sound. She attempts to return the favour. He takes her hands and kisses them as he did that first night, but does not allow her to touch him.

He leaves her, a few months later, naked and alone in the barn. The guilt from that encounter is heavy in his chest, the flinch of pain when he entered her, the long kiss they shared as he slowly began to move, the feeling of her around him that drove him to his own peak, causing him to spend himself deep inside her.

That should be the last end for him, his last selfish act. But she doesn’t let him. She follows him to Val Royeaux, and when he hears that call of a false name, his heart breaks. He reveals himself and sees her down there, heartbreak in her eyes, Dorian and Varric and Cassandra trying to pull her away from the crowds even as she stands steady, eyes on him, not struggling but refusing to move.

_“I loved you”_

These are the words she uses. She takes every piece of his anger, knows it isn’t directed at her. He just watches him with those sad, sad blue eyes and curls in on herself when he rattles the bars, confesses his crimes, lays himself bare. And she stares at him, wide eyed, and moves away. First a few stumbling steps, and then she runs. He hears a sob. He hates himself even more.

It’s a week before he’s told he’s being released.

She judges him. Tells him he’s free to atone. As the man he is- and he’s not sure who that man is, not sure if Thom Rainier will be able to atone.

And then she lets him kiss her, up there, in front of everyone. When he pulls back, her eyes are filled with a cocktail of emotions. Love, anger, fear, _hope_. It is the hope that causes him to offer up a smile- one she cautiously returns.

That night, in her chambers, he gives his apologies in kisses, and she burns away the guilt with her fingers, and that hope catches in him, spreading throughout him. And he hates himself a little less with each touch.


End file.
